


He Is The Sun, And You Are A Liar

by ERidg17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, First Love, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERidg17/pseuds/ERidg17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black is a sun, and Remus Lupin is a liar. </p>
<p>(But they've known this all along)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is The Sun, And You Are A Liar

_He's a firework_ , you think.

_No, a fire_ , you determine.

_No, he's the fucking sun_ , you decide as you watch him watching you with burning, smoldering eyes.

He's the one bright spot in the darkness, lighting everything up in shades of black and white and grey, and maybe it's better this way because there aren't any colors to shade the truth.

Maybe this is why he only looks at you in this hungry way when it gets dark and when the colors start to bleed out of the room, because there's no room left to pretend, there's no room left to lie, there's no room left for anything because you two are so close together there's almost no air between you.

There's never been any space between you, not since the first day at Hogwarts and they decided they wanted you. _JamesandSirius_ chose you and God you've been waiting for friends like this, who treat you like they've known you for years - _JamesandSirius_ pretend they're brothers, but they practically are so it isn't the same pretend game that you play.

For a long while, they're a unit, a set, a pair, _JamesandSirius_. _JamesandSirius_ got detention again, _JamesandSirius_ were late to class, _JamesandSirius_ played a prank on Snivellus again.

To everybody else, you're all a unit, a set, a group, _JamesandSiriusandRemusandPeter_ ; you all smell of James' favorite body soap and you all share each other's shirts and you all like your toast the same way and you all sit together in class and you all use the same phrases in your essays - whether you're adopting each other's patterns or you're copying each other's essays, nobody can really tell.

But you can tell - you're not a unit. There's _JamesandSirius_ , then there's Peter, and there's you.

It's better this way, you tell yourself (mostly at night because that's when you can hear _JamesandSirius_ whispering to each other in James' bed); you're here to study and graduate and get a good job, the best you can hope to get with your _condition_. But they manage to drag you into their pranks and eventually it's not them, it's you who is the mastermind behind them, and Peter is the master of puppy eyes and escaping punishments and nobody suspects _you_ , studious, hardworking innocent _Remus Lupin_.

(You're good at making yourself seem innocent too, but not with puppy eyes.)

Once a month, you go visit your sick mother - who's so sick she's already in the ground and she's already bones and really, it's you who's sick, isn't it? - until they catch on and you screw your eyes shut and wait for the other shoe to drop, for the building to topple, for an earthquake to hit and ruin everything. But it doesn't drop and it never drops and things only soar upwards from there, like James has taken you on another broom ride and it's like your stomach has dropped and it'll never catch up (but if it's from Sirius' smile or the loops James performs, you can't tell).

You're still waiting for the earthquake to hit, for the glass to shatter, for the ground to swallow you whole as you watch him watch you, as you pretend you don't see him pretending not to see you.

What a _liar_ you are, Remus Lupin.

You've been afraid of the dark for as long as you can remember, but you're not afraid of the monsters that live in the dark (you're the worse kind of monster there is anyhow, the kind that parades around in a man's skin and pretends to be the same as them). Besides, the dark is where your monster rips its way out of your skin, rips through your sheets, your dreams, your life.

But you're not afraid of the dark right? _No, I'm not_ says eleven-year-old Remus Lupin, lying through his teeth. You've been lying since you were five, you're an expert, right?

Sirius doesn't think you are (he's been spoon fed lies since he was _younger_ than five, he knows what they look like, he knows that you're _lying_ ). He hears your nightmares and sees your terror, and he knows when to crawl into your bed, just before the nightmares stop, and how to rub your back so you settle back down and sleep through the night (He might be a better liar than even you).

There's no space no air no hesitation when you finally gravitate towards towards him as the fire burns lower in the hearth and hotter in his eyes (You're both liars).

Sirius Black (who's not as black as his name says, who's not a firework or a fire, but a sun) watches you watch him and he knows (but that's okay, because so do you).

There's no one left to lie to, there are no secrets between you (no air no space no secrets), there is no hesitation, no more waiting (God, please don't let you wait anymore).

All there is is his eyes glinting and his skin paling as the fire goes down (your freckles and scars turn silver in the moonlight). All there is is Sirius sliding into his spot next to you - yes that's his spot next to you, it has been since fourth year, don't deny it.

They're no longer _JamesandSirius_ to you; it's James and Sirius, brothers by choice. And you're a part of _JamesandSiriusandRemusandPeter_ and you're a part of a unit and they're the best family you've had for a while and you will never let them go.

His hair is soft as silk and as dark as ink and smells like James' sour apple shampoo and his fingertips are sliding, sliding, sliding over the back of your hand and up your arm to your shoulder and you're on fire (now you're the brightest thing in this room). Sirius' eyes burn into you until there is nothing left - there never will be anything again (never say never).

He slides from his spot next to you to his spot in front of you, tilting up to meet your cheek with his mouth and you close your eyes because there is nothing left besides his mouth on you and his hand on your neck sliding _up up up_ to your hair, twisting into your hair, using it to pull you down where he can reach.

Your chest is tight and on fire and his mouth is burning against your cheek. Your hands glance over his shoulders, pull his hair back from his face, hold his beautiful face as you pull him back (don't worry it's only temporary) and finally you pull him back into you and your noses are bumping gently against each other, until you close the little distance and his lips slide over yours. He's the one that started this (finally you were drowning in air) and you will be the one to finish it.

This is nothing like the mess of the kiss from last month (that was too quick, too fast, too fleeting); that was a triumphant _we won_ kiss, messy and fast and startling. This has been a long time coming, since at least fifth year - for you, you've been wanting him for what feels like forever, a lifetime, an eternity.

His lips are so soft in between your own, but they still catch on yours as he tugs you down until you're sliding down against the wall and he's pinning you in, consuming all the light in the room until he's glowing, blocking out everything, anything else.

Can't you taste the silver spoon in his mouth, placed there upon birth (behind the caramel and peppermint and sunshine)? You're sure he can taste the lies caught on your teeth.

He shifts into your lap and his other hand rests gently on your cheek - his thumb is rubbing over the scar that drags over your cheekbones, his other hand threading through your hair, playing with it.

Your hands are everywhere - you don't have the self control to stop them from wandering; your fingers drag down his chest, down his thigh, to his calf and back up again. He shudders (but not because he's cold) and presses closer into your chest, biting gently at your lips, slowly driving you crazy (almost as slowly as the embers burn in the hearth).

You can't tell how much time passes but it's still dark when the house elves open the portrait and see you both crowded into the corner, wrapped around each other. They both and stutter and apologize, but the spell is broken and Sirius climbs up off your lap and you struggle to stand on weak knees.

Sirius Black - who is not as dark as his name, who is a firework, a fire, a sun - follows you up to bed and follows you into your bed and for once you are comfortable in your own skin, as Sirius traces the map your scars leave on your skin under the sheets of your bed.

This isn't the first time you've shared a bed with him and it won't be the last - you have a whole future ahead of you and this is not the last time that you will fall in love, into this all consuming, burning, open-a-hole-of-wanting mess.

But God, Remus Lupin, you are in love with this boy and he will scar you in places even your own claws and teeth can't reach, but don't worry because you've survived werewolf bites and your skin ripping open, and you will survive this too.

He's curled into your side and you can feel the hope blossoming in his chest too, and you lean down to kiss his forehead and be careful, you might start something.

_He is a firework_ , you think.

_He is a fire_ , you decide.

_He's the sun._


End file.
